


The Question Is Why

by Hightress



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, IronStrange, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hightress/pseuds/Hightress
Summary: Sometimes unnecessary and misplaced flirting can be someone's first step to healing.





	The Question Is Why

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelheadedhipsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipsters/gifts).



> This is for the best waifu I could've ever asked for! It was meant for last week but... life happened. I'm sorry if it's too sad, I tried to make it happier (and I failed). Ly, man. Take this depressing thing and forgive me.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy it!

'Why did you do that?' A simple question, demanded by a man that probably never even heard the word 'simple'.

And Stephen Strange just didn't bother himself with simplicity.

'There was no other way' - what a lie, saying it as if he had any knowledge left of what was to come. He had liked to speak with superiority and faked confidence his whole life and now, that he felt more useless and insignificant than ever, tried to play the same card. Who was he forcing himself to deceive? Stark? The others definitely not.

What was the point of seeing millions of alternative futures if even the one that was supposed to give them hope turned against them because of an angered fool?

Stephen really shouldn't have trusted a bunch of idiots with the fate of the universe. The burden was only his.

Then why? Why? Why did he do it? Why give away his life, the universe, just to save a man. It hadn't been logical, only proved the madness his colleagues accused him of having his whole life.

Tony Stark was a man. Excentric, arrogant, a genius in every sense of the word. Too complicated. Stephen hated complicated people. He didn't have the patience for their annoying drama or their stupidity. But, for an unknown reason, he couldn't find it in him to hate Stark. At first, when the whole disaster started, he might have done it, but as hours passed and Stephen saw more and more - something changed. Maybe because he didn't feel like he was better than Stark.

Quite the opposite. 

It became clear the moment Stephen raised his tired hand and gave away the one thing he acknowledged to matter more than his own self - that cursed stone. The moment Stark raised his voice, putting all the strength he had left in that now frail body of his to shout out 'NO!', Stephen understood something. 

Stark mattered more than that stone. In his eyes, he mattered even more than all the damn universe. 

That must've been why people kept calling him selfish and why they were so, so wrong by calling Stark the same way. 

When Stephen felt himself disintegrate, he didn't regret making that choice. But when he opened his eyes three weeks after, regret became all he could think about. 

The first few days were a blur of confusion. It was difficult - trying to understand that he died and somehow came back, failing to get how and somehow fearing to learn it. It wouldn't have changed the reality anyway. 

He didn't return to the sanctuary. Didn't contact anyone, preferring a certain solitude to be able to control his thoughts and make a plan. Or, at least, that's what he told himself in the middle of the night. The truth was something else entirely. 

(He was ashamed.)

Entering the hospital after so many months felt both wrong and surprisingly sad at the same time, the same way the scalpel, once an extension of his being, now felt both uncomfortable and alienated. His fingers were trembling slightly across the metal and he hated that he couldn't tell for sure if it was all due to the accident or it was something else as well. There was no point in cutting someone open if he couldn't control his body properly. He was a doctor. He wouldn't have endangered a patient just to prove a point to himself. 

(But to others, he would've done it. He did it for years after all. Nothing bad had happened, of course, but if it had been someone else in his place, someone not as capable, it would've ended up as a tragedy.) 

He stepped back, took a deep breath and helped in the only way he saw fit - by making sure that the rest of the doctors knew exactly what they were doing. 

(Making sure? What a joke. He ordered them around, throwing commands, insults if needed, as if he was a God. 

But Gods failed. Just like he did.)

He got used to the routine. For the first time in months, he felt at peace. The nightmares that used to leave him shivering at night were finally fading and he became able to ignore how small he felt in the middle of the night. It was fine.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't anymore. 

Complicated walked back in his life in the form of designer shoes and a face hidden behind some fancy glasses. It had been late, terribly so, and, for a second, Stephen's mind thought it was nothing more than a dream - some mirage his conscious built in order to tell him to drop everything and go home. He was exhausted, his eyes barely staying open. 

"Someone's alive," Stark's voice filled the room as soon as he stepped inside. No greetings, no nothing. Stephen ignored him. He had no time to waste on illusions. It wouldn't have been the first occasion when this happened after a long shift. He might not have been the one to hold the scalpel, but the stress was still there. 

"To be honest, I was kind of disappointed, Strange. I expected a card, maybe even a bottle of champagne."

Real or not, Stephen couldn't contain his irritation. He rolled his eyes, not even looking in the direction of the voice, but having the suspicion that Stark - or, at least, his ghost - had the audacity to lean his body against one of the walls.

Disrespectful as always. 

"Nothing? No smart remark? Didn't think you had it in you, doc." 

And Stephen was running out of patience. 

"Shut it," he mumbled, already sensing a headache. He didn't need this. He chose to stay away from everything for a reason. Being questioned by someone - especially the reason his whole new life turned upside down - was the last thing he wanted. 

"So you can talk!" exclaimed Tony sarcastically, not reading the mood at all. Not like he ever did. 

"Stop," mumbled Stephen once again, this time more firmly. "I know you're not here."

Tony did stop at that. His mouth opened and closed twice, no sound escaping, before he finally managed to get some words out. 

"Ok, wow, so I'll pretend that's not worrying. Even though it is. But I'm pretty sure I'm here."

Stephen raised his eyes at that and stared at the unmistakable form of Tony Stark placed less than a meter away from him. Looking exactly like he imagined him to be, dressed like a celebrity, brown eyes completely hidden behind the glasses. The wall was glued to his back, hands tucked into the pockets. But there was something there that wasn't right. The hands weren't static - they moved frenetically as if fighting to stay still but failing. Was it nervousness? Why would Stark be nervous? And why would Stephen imagine him that way? 

He wouldn't. And Stephen cursed in his mind his unapologetic lack of luck. 

Snorting was inevitable.

"Ok then," he said, already moving back to gather his things. He had taken a small bag with him for that shift. Just needed to find the pair of gloves he had asked one of his colleagues to get him the day before and he'd be on his way - far from Stark, far from everything that didn't scream death and regret and horrible, horrible choices. 

It was too real. Too soon. He didn't want to be a labeled as a coward, to be constantly on the run, but that was exactly what he was doing. 

"Ok? Is that your reaction to seeing my wonderful self after ditching me like a bad prom date?"

Tony kept pushing and would've probably kept doing it until Stephen gave in. Or, as it actually happened, realized he had nowhere else to go. 

Something inside Stephen itched to be let out. 

"I did not ditch you," Stephen's voice rang, tone raised and cutting, eyes narrowed and bag thrown away in anger. "I died." 

If the change in atmosphere surprised Tony, he certainly didn't show it. But the movement of his hands slowed down immediately. 

"That you did," he said calmly as if they were discussing something trivial. 

That only fuelled Stephen's anger. 

"And you were judging me for my lack of reaction," he spat, straightening his back, looking at Tony from above. Their faces were close, making the air so much heavier. In that instant, Stephen felt more powerful than he has felt in months. "You don't have to worry, Stark. I didn't do it for you."

(Lies. Lies. Lies.)

Once again, Tony failed to provide a good enough emotional response. All he did was to extract his hands from the confinement of the pants and use them to take off his glasses. 

"I know," he said, voice clear and seemingly uncaring. But his now visible eyes were telling a different story. They were warm and bright, not numb and cold and detached as Stephen had expected. 

They had more life in them than Stephen thought possible after everything that happened. Still sad, still exhausted, but alive. 

"So, since we've established that, I think you owe me something, Strange," said Tony, a bit of smugness clearly heard in his tone. He took a step back as well, making the height difference less impressive. 

The words were contouring a challenge that Stephen didn't want to figure out or know anything of. 

"You're delusional," he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Not at all. I did save the universe," was Tony's intelligent response. 

It wasn't a completely wrong statement, but Stephen would've rather lost a limb (not a hand though, his past taught him enough) than accept something of that sort. 

"All thanks to me," he said, claiming the credit he had won fair and square. 

Not that Tony was going to leave things that way. 

"I don't think that's how it worked," he told Stephen, taking an even more playful route. His eyes were almost smiling with mischief and Stephen really wanted to wipe that annoying smirk from his face. 

"Yes it is," came Stephen's sharp retaliation. 

"No it's not," said Tony, becoming more and more childish by the second. 

Stephen was annoyed by this, but not as much as he would've been with anyone else. Actually, he was close to getting annoyed with the fact that he wasn't annoyed enough. 

"You could change my mind, you know?" added Tony, that huge grin on his face extending even more. 

Stephen looked at him disbelievingly.

"Of course I can. It's the truth!" he exclaimed, raising both his voice and his hands in the air. 

But Tony was having none of it. And he took the conversation in the weirdest direction Stephen would've ever thought possible.

"Dinner tomorrow," he started. "You pick me up at 7. I've been craving Thai for a while so look it up. If you don't disappoint, and I hope you won't, I'll consider it a tie."

Was it a joke? It must've been, right?

"Are you done?" asked Stephen. 

It didn't really sound like a joke though and Stephen doubted that Tony would've played with such things so carelessly. Even with his playboy title. 

Tony's beaming smile got even more unnerving if that was even possible. Why the hell did Stephen find that so horribly attractive? 

"Haven't even started," teased Tony, winking at him. 

It wasn't the first time he did that. And with every single occasion, Stephen felt his blood boiling even more in anticipation. There were things that he just couldn't deny. 

Stephen thought about it for a moment. If he was to regret it, he'd rather do it later. 

"You said 7, right?" he asked, a bit unsure if he heard it right the first time. "Also, why Thai?" 

His confusion was genuine. There was always a story with things so specific. That or he really loved to overthink everything.

Tony found his question amusing. 

"It's exotic and I've got cravings, Strange. It's a human reaction." He chuckled to himself as he explained. "And not many things are as exotic as a quiet, fancy dinner with a hot wizard," he added, taking another step back, still facing Stephen, and swinging his hips a bit. 

He was having fun seeing Stephen's conflicted face. 

"Did you just...?" Stephen articulated, not even knowing where to go with the question. His tongue fell flat in his mouth, unable to add any other syllable. 

Before he could recover, Tony distanced himself once again, his steps taking him to the door. Stephen followed him with his eyes, unmoving. 

"See you soon, lover boy," said Tony as a farewell, smiling once more at Stephen before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. 

Stephen didn't react at first. All he could see was the other's unguarded face, so much different from just a few minutes before, when Stephen finally noticed him properly. It seemed like ages. 

He didn't even know how they got from one place to the other. 

But deep down he was grateful. That dinner - was it a date? Or was his mind playing tricks on him again? Anyway, it might've been a good turn of events . 

He needed a distraction from his thoughts. And Tony Stark, with all his compelling arrogance and his eccentricities and layers and layers that needed to be decoded, was the perfect way of doing it. 

It was funny. The answer to all his problems might've been the source of his distress all along. 

Stephen looked forward to learning more about this 'problem' of his. It had been ages since he had been even remotely excited about anything. 

And, maybe, that choice he had made hadn't been a mistake after all, but a blessed decision. 

There were no more haunting questions that night.


End file.
